Monster
by JoeEngland
Summary: Chinese proverb: "Failure is not falling down but refusing to get up." Tigress would say that depends on what you want to accomplish.


I am Tigress.

Tigress the monster.

I remember the day he first came to the Valley. Not his name. But the way he walked, meek and unassuming, clumsy but eager. Tiny, ridiculous glasses guarding eyes the color of royalty. A young scholar. A tiger.

Of course, I had met other tigers, in my travels. But not often. We are a rare breed. Almost extinct. Our ancestors' innate ferocity lead them to warlike ways, and for a long time in the distant past we were kings and queens of bandits. But the advent of kung fu brought to our prey a means of defense. Heroes rose up. Notions of equality, the rights of all beings, came into the general consciousness. Other predatory races, the wolves, the crocodiles, the mighty gorillas, the other great cat families, all were either tamed or chose to withdraw into the shadows, hunting from then on like cowards and thieves. Warlords took to hiring them as mercenary soldiers, a station they fill to this day.

But not the ancient southern tigers. Their pride forbade them to change with the times, instead clinging to old notions of power. And, as kung fu almost fell silent under the roar of the cannon, so too my people fell to the noble martial arts. The first champions crafted many legends battling the terrible tiger hordes.

But I digress. My point is that I was somewhat caught off guard when I saw this anomaly, not a proud fighter but a humble student, traveling the land to create a dissertation on... something or other.

I should remember. It was so important to him.

But such is the way of the universe. Great Oogway taught me long ago that the subtle machinations of fate are often whimsical in their culmination. Often cruel as well... or perhaps that is our fault. Even legends, immortal as we are, are prone to make mistakes.

He was so frightened of me, my mild tiger. Most citizens were. My reputation was a double-edged sword, inspiring both reverence and intimidation. Which was ironic, in this case, since where he was concerned I found myself strangely shy. I might have even left him alone, but I was just so intensely curious, you see. My strength had been subdued from a lifetime of training. How had this tiger, a male no less, grown into such a quivering, helpless creature? What had extinguished his fire? I had been quietly observant for some time before I found the opportunity to formally introduce myself.

It must have been Spring because I was surrounded by cherry blossoms. I spied a minor commotion in the park. Bullying oxen had pegged the timid cat as an irresistible target, but I fell from the trees with a roar. One look from my eyes sent them running to their mother. The tiger looked up at me, still shaken. I held his paw to steady him. He thanked me profusely, still falling over himself, trying to gather his dignity amongst his scattered papers. From his quailing, I think he was afraid that I would eat him if he did not show due respect.

I wasn't much better, I suppose. Not that he could tell! Disciplined as I was, I did not show any outward sign of the uncertain emotions creeping through me. Not beyond a bit of stuttering, at least. But it was dignified stuttering.

I handed him his glasses and, in my own halting manner, suggested that we should see more of each other while his studies held him near the Valley of Peace. He shyly accepted, perhaps still wary of my devouring him in the event of refusal, and we arranged to have dinner at "Dragon Warrior Noodles & Tofu." I retreated to the Jade Palace to prepare, cheered yet trepidatious. My fellow warriors were gleeful.

"What will you wear?" asked Viper.

"My clothes, of course," I replied. "There's nothing wrong with what I always have on."

"No," she said. "You'll wear a dress. And that's that."

I felt absurd, mincing down the palace steps in that restrictive tube of silk. I suppose it never occurred to Viper that some of us have limbs to consider. Po was a bit jealous, I think… Not of the dress! No, of my new friend. Mantis and Monkey were relentless in their teasing. To think, stolid Tigress wearing a pretty dress. Expressing an interest in something other than the study of combat!

Studies... that was a bridge between us, my tiger and I. Something besides our shared species for us to find ground on. For we were both students, and, like me, his pursuit of knowledge had been responsible for acclimating him to walk amongst the civilized peoples. And now we began to study one another.

One shared meal lead to others. Weeks passed, and I learned much. He was an orphan too (something really quite common, I find). His porcine adoptive parents had kept a respectful distance from him during his youth, mindful of the purported bloodlust of our race. Lacking a significant physical outlet, he had filled this void with the contemplation of nature. Over time his muscles had atrophied, but he would joke, in that high, gentle voice, that his brain was "strong enough to move mountains." I would respond in good humour. He wasn't quite that smart.

Then he began opening his books to me. He would show his notes and explain their purposes, and I would lean over him and rest my paw on his shoulder and pretend not to notice his breath catch in his throat. I learned many interesting things in that position.

Then I decided it was right to teach him in return. He couldn't refuse a few simple lessons. That is, I insisted. Perhaps I coerced. Well, he had to learn that, until he began to stand up for himself, others would invariably make his decisions for him!

And I wanted reasons to see more of him.

Besides, it's not like the lessons didn't help his disposition. I dare say I was a fine teacher in my own right. To be sure, with the passing of time his quivering became less so, and he began to lose that awkward, shuffling gait. A little kung fu can do wonders, can it not? And he was enthusiastic, despite his initial apprehension. He wanted to learn. To be better. To be worthy?

Maybe he simply wanted to see more of me.

There was no real prologue to our consummation. I am not one for patient subtlety in social situations. It has always been my weakest discipline. At any rate, I had no great experience in... such things. And when I find myself lacking skill in a particular art, I naturally fall back on instinct. So I simply worked him into a fervor one day, and I took him.

What? Was I wrong? I don't care what you think. That was how it worked, and it worked out just fine. He didn't complain. Some males would object to being less than... dominant in a relationship.

But I am Tigress. Without ego I ask, realistically, what male could dominate me? Those who tried habitually embarrassed themselves, and I never had patience for frivolity. Well, before Po arrived.

So things moved quickly. I don't recall many details from our courtship. But before long we two tigers, rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns, found ourselves surrounded by those who would wish us well before the sacred Hall of Warriors. A curious place for a wedding, you might say, but in spite of its name I assure you it has ever been a center of serenity. Outside the revelers threw firecrackers as musicians played, the people cheered and all was noise. Brilliant strips of red cloth were laid under the wind and for a moment my happiness was marred by a premonition of blood. I remembered what I was, and I became gripped with an overwhelming sense of foolishness, as though I was laying my paw into a steel trap. But the feeling passed as the mighty doors swept shut behind me. It was as though the spirits of those great fighters of days past had lent their strength to guard against the furor of the outside world. All was calm in the Hall.

For once, I did not mind wearing impractical clothing. I felt beautiful as the student studied me through his ridiculous glasses. My friends and family (if there could be a distinction) looked to me with love. His doting pigs did the same for their adopted son. And under my master's blessing I became a wife.

It still sounds so strange to my ears.

Shifu later took me aside and told me that he was proud of me. I found that ironic for some reason. But it didn't keep me from shedding tears of joy at having brought such a look to his wizened face. I felt as though I had accomplished something I had been pursuing ever since I first arrived at the Palace. It made leaving much easier.

No one impugned me for retiring from active service to the Valley. Of course, as Pan… as the Dragon Warrior was quick to note, I was still Tigress, and with the advent of any sufficient threat I would surely quest with my old friends once more. But I no longer needed to sequester myself in a temple with my master. I could continue my training on my own. With my husband.

I wish I could remember his name.

But I recall that we made our home on a tall, thin cliff in the Anhui Province. I had my reasons for that. I was used to being high, for one thing. We moved there during the Spring. I did most of the lifting... and the building. Sometimes I would pretend to grow tired and then he would lug a few stones while I "rested," and his ego would be salved. The nature of masculinity, I suppose. But he was the one who worked out where things needed to go, and how best to make them. There was room enough for a yard, and a statue or two, and a modest house with modest amenities. Door gods decorated the front. Amongst the rowans I planted a young peach tree, a wedding gift from Shifu. A sky well collected rain water, a sloping path stretched down through a boulder field to the ground. It was a place where we could be alone. Where we could... have more...

At this point my memory grows vague once again. The sun whirls overhead like a firefly. The stars like a daydream. Heat and cold wash over me, and I hold my husband tight. Seasons flit past. I remember...

I remember...

Other tigers came. Small ones. They had the most beautiful faces in the world. They would smile at me with their tiny little fangs and play in the grass and I would cradle them in my paws. I remember wishing that I had more feeling in my fingers. That I was softer for them.

I can almost see it now. A bantam field of martial arts students, clumsily mimicking my perfect movements with their clumsy father in the sun, on the grass carpet on our mountain... the high winds are as soft as a breeze against the shoulders of my precious tiger horde, and I make sure to tell them every day that my pride is boundless.

The nights are cold and I tell stories around a fire. They love to hear me talk, though they are too young to understand everything. But my husband loves them too. He says the stories are his favorite part of the evening. An incidental benefit to living the life of a kung fu master is always having tales to tell. The Adventures of the Furious Five. Defending the Treasure of Fucanglong. Bashe the Snake Boss. The Poisonfeather Zhen Birds. The Battle of Weeping River. Jiaolong and the Crocodile Trap. The Fall of Tai Lung. Rise of the Dragon Warrior... Pa? P... Pun...

Why couldn't he just have been "Panda?" None of The Five had names. Names are too difficult to remember. Tell another story.

The Half-Faced Wolf.

Once upon a time there was a bandit. He was no more deadly than a thousand, no, a million others I would go on to beat. No less deserving. He and his canid cohorts had been attacking remote villages of artisans. They had been thorough in enforcing a kind of martial law, ensuring that none of their victims left to alert any heroes of distress.

But the Furious Five sniffed them out. The fiends hid amongst the wares in a cluster of merchant stands, and they might have escaped our notice (for some short while), were it not for the abject fear in the eyes of the locals.

I know fear well. I can tell when it is directed at me, and when it is in regards to something hidden.

The fight was customary. In a hurricane of precision we tore the roofs from the stands and saw the wolves, dozens of them, ludicrously crouched between the clay pots. They made a show of facing us in battle, but a show was all it was. They were slow from so much time spent amongst easy game, and posed no threat to the great heroes. I still remember how we five would fight as one, a symphony in the air. The villains were our drums, Snake slipping around them like wind, Monkey hopping to and fro, practically playing, Crane like a knife sluicing through the crowd, Mantis a... an invisible firecracker. Even then, in those early days of our alliance, The Five were a force to be reckoned with. Fighting by their side I would imagine myself as a celestial body spinning through the Universe in perfect motion with all things. Kung fu is divinity, the ultimate synthesis of form and function. The ancient tigers, with their gangs of mighty fighters the color of fire, thought it was a perversion of the natural order. Their pride bade them fight against it, with all their… pride...

My mind wanders. The wolves. Yes, I halted when I saw that the bandit leader had taken a lamb hostage. I remember it squeaked, and he held it harshly by the neck with a rusted blade. Something about that particularly enraged me. I don't recall exactly what. It was no different than a thousand, no, a million other times... but his back was to the wall, Snake... No, Viper. She was called Viper, wasn't she? She usually handled sneak attacks, but she was elsewhere.

We stared each other down. I saw in the leader's eyes that he was one of those homicidal types. He actually wanted an excuse to feel the lamb's blood on his fingertips. A smile slipped across his muzzle. He pressed the knife.

I took half his face off.

I still don't know why. I didn't then, either. It was uncharacteristically brutal of me. I felt shamed, and Shifu admonished me later, but acknowledged that perhaps it would be a lesson to others that justice could only tolerate injustice for so long before claws came unsheathed. I think he was making excuses for me.

Not exactly a happy ending. Was there a moral? I might have said it was something to do with the importance of self control. More likely, evil begets evil. But then would come the time for the stories to end, and for the little ones to go to their beds. The Celestial Rabbit would ride the moon through the sky and the sun would prepare to rise on my little mountain, as it would for many weeks without incident.

One day it found me playing with... training my... my students. The spry one could not remember the proper orientation of his legs. He never could. Still, he preferred practice over his father's lessons. Daddy was boring, he said. Discipline is the mettle of the soul, I said. He asked me what mettle was.

Then I saw smoke. A string of blackish grey, like a phantom tree growing from the misty landscape. That was part of my reasoning behind making our home on the cliff, you see... it afforded a mighty view of the surrounding Earth, which I took to be under my protection. A village was under attack by wolves.

They had gone out of their way to start fires. There was more work for the water carriers than there was for me. By the time I arrived there was little left of the town. But the wolves remained, and they made a show of confronting the local hero. Always a show.

He was there. Fengquan was his name. The wolf with half a face.

His remaining lips curled in an evil grin and the battle began. I noticed right away that something was wrong. The wolves danced away from me as I swiped at them. They seemed more concerned with wasting time than with actually making an effort to defeat me. Which they must have known they couldn't. Old Half-Face had seen me fight.

A distraction.

I leapt on him, seized him in my claws and snarled in his face and he laughed, Fengquan, barked at me that he had defeated the great Tigress. He cast his eye over my shoulder. I looked to my cliff, from which grew a tree of smoke.

Now, you must understand the politics of the time. By this point in history the wolves had come together under the leadership of Kang, a visionary chieftain spearheading an attempt at reformation. To this end, the various packs had abandoned their largely nomadic ways and claimed a small province for themselves near the Yangtze river, colloquially dubbed the Land of Lang, as a sort of city-state for all their kind to call home. They had long been a criminal fraternity, and the kingdom at large was relieved that they were taking steps towards entering into society in some way which resembled proper government. A consensus was made that, for now, their "homeland" was to be treated with respect. And the wolves had, for their part, taken to reining in their bands of marauders. Inevitably they would form a grasp of civility, their society would be absorbed into China proper, and at last the canines would be domesticated. Or so it was hoped. But old habits die hard, don't they? So of course there were still skirmishes with wild dogs going out to have fun the old fashioned way. That could be forgiven. It wasn't so important that there were still wolves pillaging here and there. Just so long as it was less so as time went on. After all, we heroes would keep them in line.

This was the crux of Fengquan's scheme. I rushed to my mountain without a second thought to him while he fled toward the Land of Lang, chuckling to himself that he had bested his "nemesis." For what hero would dare to attack one of the wolves in their very city? Truculent as they were, they would defend their own to the death. There was no police force amongst their kind. Males, females, cubs, all would swarm to overwhelm an aggressive outsider. And who would risk such odds? More importantly, what hero would risk shedding such blood? For the noble must not battle the innocent, and who could blame a wolf for snapping its jaws at an intruder? No one wanted a repeat of the tigers' story.

You can see where this is going, can't you?

I was of course unmindful of politics. While I had played the fool with the raiders on the ground the other detachment of wolves had worked quickly, invading my home by paths which I had thought were known only to me, committing their crimes and rappelling away before I could return to see what they had made of my property.

I scaled the mountain with all the preternatural agility I had gained from a lifetime of absolute dedication, my muscles aching with the effort of defying wind, gravity, time, all resistance, as I commanded myself to be there now, now, NOW! I hurled all my power against the universe for naught. I was late. There was nothing for me to fight.

There was nothing.

My world shrank down very small. The bright sun cast everything in merciless clarity. My ordered mind began to lose things at an alarming rate. Names, places, protocol. My green grass had turned black. My peach tree, too. Burning straw. Tiny, ridiculous glasses, cracked in two, one half missing. It must have tumbled down the cliff. Huddled... black... things. Just things. Too few. Some down the cliff.

Must have passed them on the way up.

Screaming and screaming and screaming. Roaring.

A cell door toppling over. The steadfast walls of discipline finally collapsing like so many dominoes.

"I just want to play!"

After some time of what I assume was pitiable wailing (I later learned that the wind had carried my voice for miles around, terrifying the country folk), my madness started to focus itself towards a resolution. I began to move with great speed. Scenery melted into a violent blur of motion, my senses cataloguing details with ruthless efficiency. I was across the borders faster than thought. It may have been days, but time is a fragile alchemy. It breaks down very easily in hindsight.

I found Fengquan, of course, in a filthy tavern having himself a party, and I took the rest of his face. He had no warning. I took every wolf I saw on the journey there.

They all looked like Fengquan to me. Even after I killed him... he was everywhere.

So I continued.

I still smell the ramshackle city, the wolves pouring from their communal buildings, rushing to my waiting arms. Now dust flies up from the black streets, clouding my recollection. In my mind's eye the world dims to a subfusc haze interspersed with strips of red, like worms breaking the surface of a dead Earth. It goes on like this for a while, and I feel an abiding sense of... peace.

My next relevant memory is the perception of misty shapes wandering through curtains of ash. They drift haltingly, surveying the ruins with proficient caution. A fat silhouette hops before them, mocking their sobriety. Shadow puppets with no audience. None but what carrion feeders would brave such desolation. I had started burning things at some point, growing myself a forest of grey. The Furious Five had been alerted that a terrible monster was laying waste to the wolf city. So I must have been there for quite a while... weeks, perhaps. What did I eat?

Oh yes. I remember.

Pan… Po? Yes, Po found me first. As per his idiom, he immediately assumed that I had ventured from my home to investigate the monster myself, and that now we would combine our forces to vanquish it. Apparently my soiled, blackened coat was no kind of clue. In his eyes he saw only his beloved sister. He was merely perplexed when I did not respond with anything other than a thousand yard stare. The others soon convened, more easily sensing that something was amiss. Their questions came in wary tones. All I could tell them was the truth.

"I am Tigress.

"Tigress the Monster."

They began speaking a melange of gibberish. I could not understand their words, and it grated on my nerves. I never had patience for frivolity. The chattering became Fengquan's laughter, and then I could see him even in the faces I knew so well, his half-face eclipsing theirs like the shadow of the Earth on the moon. My thoughts turned to panic. Where were my real friends? What were these grotesque simulacra? Another of Fengquan's tricks? I would tear them open and they would be wolves underneath. Maybe they always were.

I remember dear Viper, wrapping herself around me as gently as water around a rock, crying at me. Tearing her off of me, strangling her, cracking her like a whip against Mantis. Flying up to meet Crane, grasping his beak and pulling him down, then plunging him like a knife into Monkey's flesh. My paws swept in elegant motion. The changelings started to bleed. I marveled at myself.

It used to seem wrong to me that the ways of harmony and focus should be harnessed so expertly by the evil. How could the likes of Tai Lung master an art which demanded the cultivation of wisdom? But now I knew why. The lifelong struggle against my violent nature had curtailed me. By drowning in hate I had attained a simple serenity I'd never felt before. Without distraction my focus was perfect. Without sanity I was in harmony. If only Shifu could see! At last, at last, I was perfection. Tears of joy made rivers through the black on my cheeks. The Five lay in supplication around me.

Except for one, who didn't move. He simply stared. His eyes were pools of light boring through Fengquan's face. The wolf's visage dissipated and there was Po, precious Po, so innocent and well-meaning and confused. Why was he not happy for me? Was this not the completion of all my training? Was I not a hero?

The world came into focus as if through a pair of broken glasses. My beloved friends had been beaten half to death, and now Po was looking at me with the expression of an abused child. I had burnt a city to the ground and slaughtered its citizens because my family was dead. I did not react to any of it. There was no disgust, no horror, no grief. Was I mad?

I decided to withdraw into a state of contemplation. Po wrapped himself around me as I knelt in meditation, my muscles relaxing as my claws shrank back into my hands. The Five led me from the Land of Lang in a solemn procession, their eyes on me at all times. The kinds of eyes a warrior reserves for watching dangerous things. I kept my pace steady as I quietly pondered all that had happened, content at least to leave the Land of Lang behind. At any rate, my work there was done.

Wolves are an endangered species now. Did you know?

Those who were left demanded some kind of justice. Some rallied in support of me, my sad story by now having been brought fully to light. Others even cheered the decimation of the wolves. All were silenced when it became clear that some several dozen of my victims hadn't been wolves at all, but traveling folk of various races that I had happened upon during my bloody pilgrimage. This was news to me. I hadn't even noticed.

The masters of the kingdoms and of kung fu agreed that there was but one course of action.

Poor Shifu. It must have broken his heart, for history to repeat itself in such a way. I saw it in his face, set like stone, like mine, as he issued the decree and we spoke for the last time. You can guess what I said. This time he did not contradict me.

The Hall was so quiet in that moment of silence. More than it had ever been. But my cage lifted, chains rattled, and my guards left the echoes of heavy footsteps in their wake. As we moved I was struck by how utterly sublime it was, this heart of all Kung Fu. This home I had once been worthy of. The sacred scrolls illuminated by the many candles Oogway had once tended to so gently. The glorious golden dragon, its sight on me even to the last, its teeth free of that one curious treasure I used to dream of unlocking. The brilliant columns of jade passing me one by one, and amongst them my friends, every bit as sturdy, standing at attention. And, one by one, turning their backs to me. It was another tradition, as I recall. A display of discipline and, in a way, respect.

But Po never turned. He just looked at me with those sad eyes, and, finally, cast his brow down to the ground as the mighty doors cut him from my sight.

I wonder if he still has his doll of me?

"It's not a doll!" he would say. "It's an action figure!"

Do they still make dolls of me? Probably. They made dolls of Tai Lung even after his disgrace. Legends may change their colors, but the people will love them either way. Even villains. Am I still loved, then?

I hope I didn't spoil Po's fun. I hope he still plays with his silly dolls, and falls over himself, and loves kung fu, and laughs at danger even when he shouldn't. I hope that he and Monkey still play practical jokes together. I hope Viper still dances, and Mantis still bemoans the injustices he must endure, and Crane still daydreams of beautiful birds. I hope Shif... Shu...

But they are out there, still. Still heroes, still the Furious Five. Ultimately, a little tragedy serves merely to augment a good legend. Perhaps it will strengthen them. Perhaps history will repeat once again and some newcomer will arrive to mend their hearts, like Po did for my master once upon a time. So long as they are strong, and they are, then time and fate will care for them. For even after all this, I do not believe that the universe is anything other than beautiful and good.

It is we who are cruel. It is we who make horror when we fail our greater potential. As I did, in my past life.

Do not say I am not dead. I could not be what I once was even if I wanted to. And I do not. Too much of me has drifted away on the river of my mind, into the night of forgetfulness. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I see Diyu. Old Lady Meng offers me her cup, and I drink deeply. My heroism sloughs off of me. I have replaced it with memories of the taste of meat between my teeth, of blood blanketing my tongue. That is all that remains in this place.

And what remains cares not for redemption. I will not cleanse myself. My coat remains blackened. Let Hell await me. I'll find Fengquan there too, and become his demon. Better that than going to the cities of Heaven and seeing the beautiful faces of my cubs, my poor weakling husband, granting me forgiveness I cannot bear.

My guards hear me mutter to myself sometimes as they march overhead, my mantra slipping up to greet their ears like a ghost, like a tree of smoke. A tiny wisp to remind them a fire still burns. I think it is not the only phantom in Chorh-Gom Prison. I wonder if they can contain me? I may escape, you know. My body is chained to stone, but my spirit is light as air, unencumbered by conscience. I am perfection. The walls would fall like dominoes and once more I would slaughter and burn and roar. I would summon Hell to Earth. I would hunt for ugly Fengquan, see him in every face, kill him a thousand times, a million, and more. Why?

Because I am Tigress.

Tigress the Monster.


End file.
